Fractured Attention Breaks Expectations
by Inthefire
Summary: Facilitated by Thayet, Onua and Numair meet for the first time over drinks.


Onua lifts the saddle from her speckled mare and props it against the stall wall. "Thayet, I really cannot tell you how grateful I am that you're doing this for me," Onua says as she brushes the mare's mane.

Thayet smiles. "It's my pleasure. You know how I love taking people under my wing. And besides," she says, "Numair could do with more friends."

"But really," Onua begins, but Thayet waves her off.

"Please don't," she replies, her fingers, with the horse's mane wrapped around them, clenching slightly as they always do when people exhibited gratitude around her.

Onua smiles and nods. She continues packing away her horse care supplies, wondering if Thayet's introduction would really leave her with a new friend. As the two exit the stable, Onua cannot help but twist her fingers anxiously, hoping dearly that Numair would take a liking to her, and she to him. She wonders what Numair looks like, if he is handsome like many of the men at Tortall's court. (It is not like Onua to swoon, but honestly what female could be impervious to that kind of beauty? Her memory immediately flashes to King Jonathan, but she flushes, remembering who is walking beside her.)

"Here we are," Thayet says, holding a door open. Onua smiles brightly at Thayet, but as she passes into the doorway she cringes at her own forced cheeriness. "Ah, let's see, shall pick a table and wait for him?" Thayet comments. Onua nods, her fingers now tapping rapidly on her left thigh. Thayet, noticing Onua's jumpiness, catches her friend's hand. "Relax," she insists. "He'll love you. I don't know anyone who doesn't."

Onua barks a laugh. "That's too kind."

Thayet shakes her head and motions a maid over. "Not at all. Shall we order some ale?" Onua, who is now tracing the ridges of the wooden table, affirms Thayet's request. The maid scurries away to fill the order, and Thayet leans forward. "Please, relax."

Onua sighs and folds her hands in her lap, but her fingers continue contracting. "I'll try."

Thayet tries to return their conversation topics to their previous triviality, attempting to get Onua lost in details about the color of the royal rugs. But, of course, one can only discuss various shades of maroon and gold wool for so long, and quickly Thayet gives up. (Looking back, Thayet realizes that she should have personally pursued rug designs, as the ones Jonathan selected truly were horrible.)

Eventually, Numair shows up and Thayet is so grateful that she doesn't even berate him for being twenty minutes late. He apologizes ("I'm truly sorry, Thayet," he stammers, glancing at Onua and flushing pink) and settles into a chair beside them. Conversation begins slowly, with plenty of insertions of awkward pauses, but with enough jokes about her husband and his band of friends (really, Gary should watch where he is walking far more carefully) the trio begins to shed their nerves.

"And then," Numair stutters, his words catching on his own laughter, "he just backed up and up until he was against the edge and then he leaned backwards and fell off."

Onua wipes her eyes, still shaking with laughter. "You're lying," she insists. "He didn't really."

Numair leans back, his eyes aglow. "I swear to Mithros. The man just tumbled backwards off the balcony. You could hear the splash when he hit the water, even with the wind blowing. It was as if Wellam had never seen a hawk become a man before."

"I'm sure Turomont of Wellam wasn't expecting you to appear, naked on his own balcony. You could have scared him to death." Thayet's tone is stiff, almost disapproving, but her eyes crinkle with humor.

"It was all with a bit of fun. No lasting harm," Numair defends. He tries to keep his face serious, but a smile cracks and he continues, "Except for maybe his tunic. I'm pretty sure that was ruined. But since it was that horrid shade of puce, I consider it a favor." He winks at Onua, who once more begins to chuckle. After a moment's hesitation, Thayet joins in.

The table is so caught up in their own amusement that they fail to notice the advancing figure. "Your Highness," a voice interrupts, "I'm so very sorry to be of disturbance, but His Highness has requested you meet him in the royal meeting hall."

Thayet turns to the messenger and murmurs her thanks. "I'm sorry, you two, but I'll have to go."

"We should do this again," Numair offers, standing as Thayet does. Onua follows suit, but her chair catches on the uneven floorboards and she is trapped at the table.

"No, stay," Thayet presses. "Don't leave on my behalf." Numair looks down at Onua, who has stopped trying to extricate herself from the chair and with a shrug, sits down.

All three chorus a few more goodbyes and Thayet leaves. The door slams behind her and both Numair and Onua wince, then chuckle at each other's response. "So," Numair begins, an easy smile on his face, tell me about your history."

Onua's face falls and her shoulders hunch. "I'm from Sarain," she begins, her voice soft. "I came here after, after," her voice trails off.

Numair reaches out and covers her hand with his. "Don't," he says, "If it hurts, just don't." Onua looks up at him and smiles gratefully. He continues to talk about family history and pain, but Onua, lost in her own thoughts, doesn't process any of his words. It occurs to her that he is just as handsome as the rest of Tortall, but she berates herself for thinking so ("You cannot judge a horse's capability by his mane").

Numair is still talking and Onua is still smiling, but as the moment fades Numair's words begin to reach her ears. "…have no respect for people who come from nothing…" (Through her haze of intoxication and emotion, Onua hears only part of Numair's sentence. What he really says is "There are less men here who have no respect for people who come from nothing," and even though Onua partially processes that she has not heard his whole sentence, her history of fighting for herself and her honor overpowers.)

All that Onua has heard of this man floods her mind and her outrage intensifies. She stands angrily, slamming her mug on the table. (Her chair catches once again, but she shoves through the resistance, nearly hurtling it across the room.) "You people are all the same! Being wealthy and coming from an old money-lending family does not mean you are better than me!" She turns around and mutters, "Go back to Carthak, will you?"

Numair, shocked and puzzled by her outburst, stares at her. "Wait!" he calls, getting to his feet as well. "Carthaki money-lenders? That's not me." He pauses to rub his brow. "You must be thinking of Dumaryn. He's Carthaki and certainly wealthy."

Onua turns around, her eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I believe you."

Numair shakes his head almost apologetically. "I swear it. I've certainly never been wealthy." When Onua's gaze fails to break, he raises his hands. "Do you really believe Thayet would befriend a liar?"

Onua ponders this, eventually nodding. She returns to the table and begins to once more nurse her ale. Numair follows, eyeing her carefully. The silence, punctuated by the scraping of their chairs, extends, but eventually Onua's curiosity breaks through. "If you're not from old money or Carthaki, what is your history?"

"I'm Tyran, merchant class. We never went hungry, but life was far from easy."

Onua nods and says, "I'm sorry for attacking you. You didn't deserve it."

Numair waves her off. "You're new. You have plenty to learn." He pauses and tilts his head slightly. "And, if you'll allow me, I'd like to help you understand Tortall."


End file.
